Grace of the Emperor
by metallover
Summary: Interrogator Rane and his squad of Deathwatch marines are shot down behind Tyranid lines, and the survivors, along with the aid of a convent of Adeptus Sororitas, must use all their skills and training to return the Interrogator to safety; no matter the cost. My entry to the 2009 Black Library Open Submission


"The Emperor protects, the Emperor protects, the Emperor protects..."

Inquisitorial Interrogator Rane muttered to himself over and over again, in some bleak hope that the mighty beacon of mankind would actually lend a helping hand to his servant.

The Thunderhawk, laden with a kill team of silent Deathwatch Space Marines, had been headed to reinforce the exhausted defenders at Messa's main city of Aldaris, which was currently under siege by the majority of a Tyranid splinter fleet.

Unfortunately, as soon as the Thunderhawk had entered orbit it had been targeted by gargoyles, which it seemed to Rane, were the rest of the fleet.

The pilot was shouting something about taking evasive action, but Rane wasn't listening, instead he was studying the ten giant black forms strapped around him. Ten of the legendary Adeptus Astartes, Space Marines, the Emperor's Angels of Death. Rane shook his head, regaining some composure. To show weakness in front of the great warriors would reflect poorly on his master, Inquisitor Lyn.

The entire Thunderhawk lurched to the left, before shaking violently. Inside warning klaxons began to wail as the passenger bay was lit by red emergency light.

"We're hit!" the pilot screamed. "We're going down!"

Rane glanced out of the window as the dark Messan earth flew up to meet the broken craft, and knew no more as the ship impacted with the sound of a million virus nukes.

Inquisitor Lyn frowned slightly as the blip representing the Thunderhawk gunship his pupil rode on winked out on the tactical display.

The boy wasn't dead, he was sure of that much.

With a sigh the Inquisitor pushed his half-moon spectacles further up his nose.

"I hate Tyranids."

"Did you say something, Inquisitor?" one of the numerous aides appointed to him asked.

"Talking to myself, do not worry."

_Rane, consider this another test,_ he thought silently. _Return to me a man, whole, unscathed and uncorrupt, and you will be an Inquisitor._

Rane woke to ringing like a vox-caster that hadn't been tuned properly.

Sitting up, he realized that the ringing was in his head. A quick glance revealed he'd been thrown clear of the wreck of the Thunderhawk. Visible through a huge gouge in the side of the craft were the shouldering corpses of the Deathwatch marines sent to accompany him. The last vestiges of Rane's hope began to fade. His vox was in his kit bag, which apparently hadn't been thrown clear of the wreckage like he had, and he was alone on a planet full of Tyranids. A crunch behind him made Rane spin, his hand moving automatically to his holstered bolt pistol, which was mercifully still in its place.

A form in huge black armor was coming towards him. With a sigh of relief, Rane lowered his hand and carefully stood.

"Interrogator, are you well?" the Space Marine asked.

The marine looked like he had been hit by a rhino tank, Rane mused. The black paint had been stripped back to the original red in some places, and numerous dents and gouges adorned his armor. The one red shoulder pad marked him out as the Blood Angel Maris.

"I'm fine, thank you Maris."

Maris nodded, surveying the wreck.

"We should move soon, if you are able," Maris said, after a moment. "The smell of cooking meat will no doubt attract Tyranids in large numbers."

Rane nodded. The last thing he wanted was to be attacked. He still felt like someone had mistaken him for a cloister bell at noon, and he seriously doubted he'd be much help against a swarm of hormagaunts.

"Our first priority should be capturing a working vox unit, then calling for extraction," Maris said, almost monotonously, and beginning to march away.

Stumbling on behind the massive Deathwatch marine, Rane headed towards what he hoped was his salvation.

A ping went off in Maris' helmet. His amour's self diagnostic sweep had completed. Loss of vacuum integrity, meaning he couldn't go underwater or into space, cooling systems damaged, meaning he could only exert himself so much before his armor overheated, the list went on. Final prognosis was that the suit was only operating at sixty-three percent capacity.

With a sigh and a blink, Maris brought the heat-level up on the visor, and set it to a background function.

The Interrogator looked up at him, an unspoken question on his face.

Maris cursed himself for showing weakness in front of the boy. Astartes were supposed to be unstoppable, indomitable engines of the emperor's might. However, even under the armor and the faith, and the numerous implants, they were still only human.

"My suit is damaged," Maris said simply, trudging on through the ruined streets.

"I can tell," Rane said. "What about you? Are you hurt?"

Maris stopped walking. How had he forgotten to check himself? Closing his eyes, he allowed the sensations to flood to his forebrain.

A broken wrist, held in place by the armor, already beginning to heal. Four broken ribs, again held in place by the damaged armor, already healing. Mild concussion, caused by being thrown from the wreck. All these injuries would have killed any normal human, but they barely slowed Maris down.

"Yes," Maris said, after a few moments. "I am undamaged."

Rane came up beside him. The young interrogator only came up to Maris's armored bicep, despite being nearly six feet tall himself. The interrogator's blonde-white hair was matted to his brow with perspiration, and his brilliant blue eyes showed more concern than Maris had ever seen in the eyes of most Guard commander's he'd had the bad luck of serving alongside. The youth's bare arms bore scratches and bruises, but the plain metal-plate curias he wore over his red robes seemed to have protected his torso.

"We should keep moving," Maris said a moment before his tactical heads up device bleeped a warning. Another second and a form had barreled into him from behind,

Another space marine, wearing grey armor, had knocked him down, and knelt astride him, holding Maris down with one hand, and preparing a sword to strike with the other.

With a grunt the Blood Angel willed his damaged armor to move, and backhanded his attacker in the helmeted head, knocking him off.

With lightning speed, both were back on their feet, Maris pointing his bolter, the newcomer pointing a bolt pistol with an ornate wolf carving in place of its iron-sight.

"Stop!" Rane yelled, his voice hard with inquisitorial fury. "Enough!"

The other marine lowered his gun, but Maris held his up. He'd shattered one of the visor slits on his enemy's helmet, who, with an annoyed grunt, pulled it off and cast it aside as two bright orange braids fell onto his chest..

"You fight good, Deathwatch," the marine said in a strange accent, smiling with wolf-like fangs.

"Maris, this must be one of the Space Wolves that came to help the Adeptus Sororitas cleanse the Tyranids." Rane said.

"Why did you attack me?" Maris asked, without lowering his bolter.

The Space Wolf shrugged.

"Just came from the Cadian Gate, lots of traitor marines in black armor. Instinct got the better of me."

Maris noticed the gouges in the Space Wolf's armor, the dried blood on his neck, and the way it moved slightly slower than normal on the left side. The Space Wolf would have only been operating at around the same level as Maris.

Maris lowered his gun at last. "Where is your squad?"

"Dead," the Space Wolf said, gnashing his fangs in a very animalistic way.

"Is there a working vox near here?"

The Space Wolf looked at Maris in a peculiar way. "You're a Blood Angel, aren't you?"

"Answer my question," Maris demanded.

The Space Wolf sniffed. "The Sororitas chapel, twenty kilometers back North."

"You may join us if you wish," Maris said indifferently, before turning and striding away.

"What's your name?" Rane asked their new companion as the trio trudged through the dead city.

"Olaf Falconer. What is yours?"

"Interrogator Rane Voulorinen. Good to know you."

Maris stopped so suddenly that Rane nearly ran into him.

"We're being followed." He said simply. "Run."

Without looking back, the Marine reached around and lifter Rane as easy as if he were a child, and took off, Olaf a split second behind him.

"What the hell are you doing!" Rane yelled indignantly. "I am not a child! Put me down!"

"With all due respect, sir," Maris said. "Shut up."

Olaf said nothing, but laughed as he ran alongside the duo.

"Shut it, wolf boy!" Rane yelled, which only served to make the Space wolf laugh louder.

Rane chanced a look over Maris' massive, armored shoulder pad. What he saw made his blood run cold. Tyranids, mostly hormagaunts and rippers, swarmed behind the three imperials, chittering madly. Rane only hesitated for a moment, before he pulled his heavy caliber bolt pistol out of its holster and let rip a salvo, using Maris' bouncing shoulder to steady his aim, for all the good it did. His longer, Inquisitorial pattern bolt pistol barked four times, and Rane was rewarded by watching four hormagaunts fall, only to be trampled by more from behind.

"That's loud," Maris said.

Rane fired another shot. "Deal with it."

No matter how many Tyranids fell beneath Rane's fire, more came on in an endless tide.

"Run faster!" Rane said, reloading his pistol. "Faster!"

"Why don't you carry me, while I shoot in your ear?" Maris asked sarcastically.

Olaf laughed again, and with a skid, drew his sword and turned to face the horde.

"Don't be a fool!" Maris called after the Space Wolf.

With a vicious howl Olaf charged, his pistol spitting death, then being discarded in favor of his sword. With a two handed grip Olaf tore through the first ranks of hormagaunts, and crushed rippers underfoot.

Maris gave an angry sigh, and half put down, half dropped Rane.

"Give the idiot cover-fire," Maris said, bringing his bolter to bear and opening fire.

"I thought I was supposed to be the Inquisitor," Rane muttered, bringing his pistol up in a two handed grip and adding his fire to Maris'.

Olaf looked like he was having the time of his life, laughing and smiling and slicing with his short rune-sword. Tyranids fell before him like wheat before a scythe, but there were always two more to take their places. This didn't even seem to faze the Space Wolf, he just laughed, showing his elongated fangs, and cut them down.

Soon, with Maris and Rane's bolter fire, a sizeable amount of bodies lay before the trio. However, the numbers were starting to take their toll.

"There's too many!" Rane yelled, loading his last fresh clip into his pistol.

Maris said nothing. A small chime went off in his helm. At first he thought it was his armor over-heating, but when it went off again, demanding his attention, he looked. His heads-up-display warned of five unknown contacts above and behind.

Maris turned in time to watch five black shapes descend into the melee with Olaf on wings of fire. Maris looked again. The five black shapes wore white robes and had the symbol of a flaming chalice emblazoned on their shoulders.

"Sororitas!" Maris yelled. "Into the fray, Interrogator!"

Maris charged, drawing his combat knife as long as Rane's forearm.

"That's my line!" Maris shouted after the charging space marine.

With an angry shout Rane drew his yellow chainsword, and with a two handed grip brandished it above his head, then charged with an incoherent battle shout.

The hormagaunts fell quickly before the combined onslaught of the Imperial warriors. The last survivors retreated just as fast as they'd appeared, chittering wildly all the while.

"Well, that was fun," Olaf laughed, sauntering up to Rane and Maris.

"It's a wonder there are any Space Wolves left in the galaxy if you all act like that," Maris admonished, his voice cold and flat from the speakers in his helm.

Olaf gave Maris a playful shove, before gracefully moving out of arms length.. "I left some for you, Blood Angel. Next time, though, the glory is mine."

"You can have it," Maris muttered, wiping his combat knife with his hand before returning it to its sheath. With a quick look to make sure the Interrogator wasn't watching his playground tactics, Maris wiped the Hormagaunt blood off his hand on Olaf's shoulder pad under the pretense of a half shove, half stroke.

Olaf laughed. "You Blood Angels shove like girls!"

Maris, unseen behind his black helm, grinned.

Rane powered his chainsword up to full throttle to clear the flesh and chitin out of the teeth, then, satisfied it was clean, sheathed it at his hip again as one of the Sororitas walked over to him.

She was well over six feet tall, including armor, and her black armor seemed to drink in all the light around it. The white robes she wore over top of it were darkened by soot and marred by blood and filth. The small fleur-de-lys on her helm showed she was the squad leader.

"Greetings, brother," she said, her voice metallic and flat like Maris'.

"Uh, greetings, sister," Rane said, after a moment's hesitation, and made the sign of the Aquila across his chest. He couldn't help but notice the size of her breasts in the armor as she did the same.

With a gulp Rane focused on her blood red eye visors.

"Is there a problem? Your pulse elevation and increase in ambient temperature indicate fear. Are we under attack again?" The sister brought twin bolt pistols to bear and scoped around, hunting for targets.

"No, no," Rane hastened to assure her. "I'm just, ah, grateful that you and your sisters came to our aid when you did." _Nice save, _Rane thought to himself. _Must... Re-route... Blood flow..._

The sister nodded and holstered her pistols. "In that case you will follow us to the sanctity of our convent, where we can care for you and tend your wounds."

"That would be appreciated, sister seraphim," Maris said, coming up behind Rane. "With your facilities I would be able to repair my armor."

Olaf grinned next to Maris. "And a whole convent of virgin nuns don't sound too bad, either."

"Pervert," Rane muttered, rolling his eyes.

The sister seemed to regard the Space Wolf for a moment, before pointing and saying "To a Daughter of the Emperor, having one's markings defiled so would earn her Repentia duties."

Olaf's face went blank, before he looked at his shoulder pad. With a fang-filled scowl he rounded on Maris, who was quite obviously trying to hold back peals of laughter inside his helm.

The convent was a testament to Imperial Gothic architecture. Towering black stone was furnished by few windows, but spaced at regular intervals were snarling gargoyles.

Maris silently marveled at the giant building. Back on his homeworld of Baal Secondus buildings were made out of the hides of beasts and adorned with the armor of sand scorpions. They were barely ever larger than a few square meters. Until Maris had seen the Fortress Monastery on Baal Primaris he'd believed the universe to be all deserts and tents. Unseen by the others the Blood Angel grinned at his past naivety.

The Sisters of Battle led the way into a cold hallway lined by statues of long dead saints. At the end of the hallway a shrine to Saint Leonidas stood, its multiple candles casting an eerie glow on the gigantic armored statue.

A middle aged Battle Sister strode forward to meet them. Her armor was almost ornate to the point it was sad to think of it used for battle, and her robes seemed to be made of a much finer material that the Seraphims. A large, flaming chalice protruded from her back behind her head, marking her as an important member of the convent.

She stopped a few feet away from the trio of men and made the sign of the Aquila. There was no honor guard present, but Rane could see for himself she could look after herself. A massive two handed sword was strapped to her back, and a wicked looking inferno pistol sat in a holster on her belt. There were also notches all over her armor, and a deep looking scar across her left eye, which had the slight glow of an augmetic.

"Brothers, welcome to the Order of the Ardent Flame's Commandery, Mesa. I am Canoness Commander Alice. Truly He on Earth led you to us in our time of need."

Rane was taken aback for a moment, before replying "I don't know what help we'll be."

"Nonsense," The Canoness admonished. "An Inquisitor and two Astartes are more than we could have hoped for! With you at our sides we will weather this storm as only the righteous can, and remain unscathed by his will alone!"

Her voice rose high and shrill at the end, and Olaf discreetly rubbed his ears.

An awkward moment of silence passed before Rane muttered something almost inaudible.

"Pardon, great Inquisitor?" Alice asked.

"I said I'm not an Inquisitor yet," he said a little louder. "Just an Interrogator."

The Canoness stopped to regard this for a moment.

"It matters not," she decided. "You are here for a purpose, the Emperor has seen to that. You may rest as best you can until those scuttling horrors come back."

"Thank you, Sister," Maris grated in his helmet's monotone. "If you would be kind enough to direct me to the armory, I really must see to my armor."

"Of course, Brother," she agreed. "Nadia will show you."

A battle sister holding a flamer stepped up. Her helmet was in place, so she looked like any other Battle Sister to Rane.

"This way, Brother Astartes," she said, although to Rane her voice sounded like a female Maris. All the helmets must have the same model of vox-caster in them, he decided.

"Food," Olaf said, loud enough to startle the scribes sitting in the shadowy rescesses of the room. "A warrior of my caliber must be fed!"

"Of course, great Space Wolf," Alice replied, before sending an obviously pleased Olaf off with the Seraphim Superior.

"And what would the Interrogator have of us?" Alice asked Rane, after Olaf's loud voice had faded.

"The use of your chapel, sister, and then your vox," Rane said, after a moment of thought.

The Canoness nodded knowingly.

Rane knelt in front of the great brass Aquila in the Battle Sister's chapel and attempted to recite every litany of strength and courage he'd ever been taught. He was wont to admit it, but he was scared. More than scared, he was terrified. The thought of being digested and used as organic matter for some termagaunt's gun made him feel queasy, so he shut the thoughts out and focused on the litany of protection against the warp.

"Excuse me, lord?"

Rane spun around, his hand going to the butt of his bolt pistol.

A perplexed junior sister stood at the entrance to the chapel. She barely looked old enough to be accepted into the convent, and wasn't wearing the trademark Battle Sister power armor.

"Sorry," Rane mumbled, standing. "Guess I'm a little jumpy."

The junior sister smiled.

"That is to be expected, my lord," She said in a soft voice. "Our beautiful planet is being overrun by foul xenos."

Rane moved towards her, his heavy boots making loud reports in the empty chapel, and placed his hand on her shoulder in a manner he hoped was reassuring.

"I will do all I can to see your world restored once more, sister. I swear it."

The junior sister stared up at Rane for a moment, before blushing and moving away.

"I have been instructed to show you to the communications array, once you have completed your prayers."

Rane nodded, and motioned for her to lead.

"So what is your name, sister?" Rane asked after a few minutes of walking down the corridors. Twice they had to duck to the side as fully armored squads of battle sisters charged by. The corridors themselves were hardly big enough to hold two Battle Sisters abreast, and Rane wondered how Olaf and Maris were faring.

"Sister Astrid, my lord Inquisitor," she replied over her shoulder.

Rane grimaced with annoyance. "I'm only an Interrogator. I do not deserve your reverence."

Astrid stopped and turned, frowning. "But my lord," she said. "You have been chosen by an Inquisitor to be his second, his apprentice. Just being in the service of an Inquisitor, and getting to wear the mark of the Inquisition on her power armor is every Battle Sister's dream. You carry around the mark of the Holy Inquisition at all times, and therefore are hallowed."

"Of course," Rane muttered, and sighed. _Are all Sisters of Battle this crazy?_ he thought as he followed the young sister to the communications room.

The room was a badly lit jumble of scribes and Adeptus Mechanicus technicians and Battle Sisters working at consoles, leads and wires snaking around the floors of the room seemingly at random.

There was cloying smoke in the air, from the incense the Mechanicus lit to ease the machine spirits. The room itself was no smaller than any other communication annex, but the low light, smoke, and crowd all worked to make it seem a singularly small place.

Rane stepped gingerly over cables and around adepts focused diligently on their work. Astrid remained at the door. "I will await you here, lord."

Rane shrugged and headed to the most familiar piece of equipment in the room, the long range vox caster.

The sister stationed at the caster raised a questioning eyebrow, but quickly moved aside when she saw Rane's stylized 'I' pendant.

Rane nodded thanks, and moved to begin tuning the caster to his master's frequency, when a shrill alarm began blaring.

"_All sisters, suit up and prepare to repel invaders. The Tyranid are attacking en mass, repeat: the Tyranid are attacking en mass."_

Rane groaned. "This is just my luck…"

Astrid paled slightly, before walking over to Rane.

"Stay here, my lord. I will return once I have donned my power armor."

With a bow, she was gone out the door with the other Battle Sisters, leaving Rane alone in the communication's annex with a couple of tired-looking techpriests.

Maris grunted with effort as he forced the last piece of his gauntlet back into place, before slipping it back on. He stopped to admire his reflection in the glazed, polished metal walls of the small armory. A red armored specter of death stared back at him. He smiled as he put his black helm into place. He had always been one of the more poetic ones back on Baal. He considered the empty cans that had held the red paint he'd adorned his armor with before exiting the small, brightly lit room. If he was to die today, it would be as a Blood Angel, not a faceless black Deathwatch marine.

He ran his hand over the black shoulder pad still emblazoned with the Inquisitorial rosette. Some things were better left untampered-with.

Maris became dimly aware of an alarm shrilling in the distance. He removed his helmet slowly and was rewarded by a full volume alarm keening in his ears.

"_All sisters, suit up and prepare to repel invaders. The Tyranid are attacking en mass, repeat: the Tyranid are attacking en mass."_

Maris sighed and clipped his helmet to his belt. _Audio receptors must be damaged _he thought to himself, pushing his long blonde hair backwards out of his dark, radiation burnt face.

He turned to see the Space Wolf emerge from another of the small armory rooms, his armor again mostly whole and pristine, the only evidence of the damage he'd suffered being the slightly raised welts where he'd filled the gouges left by hormagaunts' claws.

"Well, well," Olaf said, grinning his trademark, wolfish smile. "I knew you were a Blood Angel."

Maris grinned back, showing his own fangs. "Shall we go show these Sororitas how Astartes make war?"

"By all means," Olaf said, hefting his sword. "Lead the way."

The armory was located on the bottom floor of the huge monastery, and all Maris and Olaf had to do was walk out into the cavernous main hall and follow the sound of the bolters.

The two space marines emerged into a hell that was all too familiar to them both. The sky was dark with Seraphim and flying Tyranid organisms and the ground was littered with the corpses of both Tyranids and Battle Sisters. The Sisters of Battle had set up a front line, using sandbags and rubble for cover while they picked off the advancing swarm. Missionaries stalked the lines, much the same as a Commissar stalks amongst Guardsmen, shouting praise to the Emperor and leading prayers, occasionally snapping off shots at the oncoming horde of chitin. Small groups of the surviving Guard and PDF units were mixed in amongst the Sisters, all shallow eyed men ready to deny the Tyranids that took their homes away until their last breaths. As Maris strode to the front with Olaf in tow, he was proud to see that there were many more Tyranid corpses than Sisters.

"Hold the line!" Canoness Alice was shouting. "We will not falter in the Emperor's service!"

The Tyranid horde charged forward like a living wave of chitinous death, and Sisters of Battle leapt to meet them. Olaf let out a wolf-howl battle cry and charged forward, throwing himself into a swarm of hormagaunts with reckless abandon, Maris grinning slightly as he raised his bolter and began to cover the Space Wolf.

Sisters of Battle met Tyranid claws and carapace with hardened ceremite and bolter shells, holding their ground. A group of three Immolators, giant flamethrowers mounted on the versatile Rhino chassis spat flaming death onto a swarm of Tyranid Warriors, while the burning warriors managed to tear through one of the tanks despite their inevitable end. A squad of Sisters Repentia armed with nothing but giant eviscerator chainswords, led by their dour mistress and her cracking force whips were unleashed from a Rhino and herded towards the thickest fighting on the right flank, followed by the jerking motions of two Penitent Engines, walkers manned by lobotomized heretics whose only purpose is to be destroyed on the field of battle after causing massive damage. A swarm of Tyranid Biovores, living cannons designed to propel living spore mines over the battle traded shots with an Exorcist long-range tank, more of a cathedral built onto a Rhino than a tank, but still capable of lobbing explosive shells at targets with almost pinpoint accuracy.

However, despite the efforts of the Sisters of Battle and their allies, the Tyranids forced them back.

The last of the Immolators exploded in a cloud of flame and shrapnel, it's farewell gift to the Imperium the swarm of Tyranids that died with it. The last sister Repentia, bleeding from wounds that virtually covered her, sold her life dearly by suicidal charging into a swarm of Termagaunts, swinging her massive eviscerator chainsword in arcs that left no defense, and was cut down. The penitent engines smoldered on piles of dead Tyranids.

Yet still the swarm came on.

"Olaf!" Maris shouted over the booms of his bolt pistol. "Fall back you stupid wolf-brained idiot! Back!"

Olaf's armor was more pitted, gouged and dented than it had been the first time Maris had seen the Space Wolf. His enhanced hearing could pick up the Fenrisian's ragged breathing, and his sensors indicated that Olaf's armor was about to reach dangerous levels of damage. But still the Space Wolf fought. Maris had heard tales of the Space Wolves legendary stubborn pride. Olaf's pack was dead, making him, in Space Wolf terms; a Lone Wolf. Normal Astartes chapters simply assigned a lone survivor to a new squad, or depending on the circumstances, to a veteran squad. Space Wolves followed a more animalistic pack mentality, meaning that members of other packs rarely accepted new members. Olaf would be doomed to wander the battlefields of the Imperium, seeking death alone, until it found him, if he didn't die on Messa first.

Maris' bolter clicked dry, and instead of reloading, he lit it drop on the sling around his shoulder, drawing his combat knife and charging to Olaf's side.

"Space Wolf, you get your Lone Wolf ass back to our lines!" Maris said, grabbing hold of Olaf's shoulder guard and turning him to see his face. "These xenos bastards have taken too much Astartes blood without adding yours to it."

Olaf seemed to register Maris' words. The Blood Angel could see Olaf waging an internal battle with the wolf spirit inside him, before he nodded and began an ordered retreat, picking off any Tyranid that came too close with his bolt pistol.

"You're right, Blood Angel," Olaf said, while the two backed toward the Monastery. "Can you imagine the havoc that the foul xenos would wreak with my biomass?"

"Yes, they'd all inherit your stubborn stupidity and tear each other apart over who could eat the most," Maris quipped absent mindedly, blasting more and more Tyranids with his bolter.

Olaf laughed heartily while he reloaded his bolt pistol. "Who would have thought a Blood Angel would have a sense of humor?"

The battle sisters fought on, driven by bloody determination to protect the last beacon of the Emperor's light on Messa.

"Sisters, create a perimeter!" Alice was screaming. "I want to see what flamers we have left burn these xenos scum to ash! Bring forth our holy bolters, purge these unclean wretches! Bring—"

Canoness Alice's inspirational call to regroup was cut short by the gob of bio-acid that hit her square in the face. Her mouth and throat fused into one lump, she fell to the ground, dead, without a sound.

The remaining Sisters of Battle cried out as one, before resolving to fulfill their Superior's final order, and creating a line just inside the entrance to their once beautiful monastery.

"Now what do we do, Blood Angel?" Olaf asked. "Any more bright ideas?"

"Hold the line! Reinforcements are en route!"

The two Space Marines turned as one to see Rane striding towards the battle, practically blazing with Inquisitorial fury. At his heels came the young Battle Sister Astrid, carrying a flamer.

Rane stopped and knelt by the fallen Canoness, and offered a quick prayer, before picking up the still flaming chalice that had been dislodged by the bio-acid that had virtually decapitated Alice.

"Sister Astrid," Rane said, calling the junior Sororitas to him. "Someone needs to bear the flame."

Without another word the Sister knelt, and Rane attached the chalice to Astrid's power armor, behind the neck guard in the centre of her shoulders.

With an almost theatrical flourish Rane brought his heavy caliber bolt pistol to bear, drawing his bright yellow chainsword with the action.

"In the Emperor's name we will not falter!" he shouted, wading into an unfortunate swarm of hormagaunts that had chosen that moment to try and get through the doorway of the Monastery.

Maris and Olaf both grinned before joining the Interrogator, rending the countless hordes of Tyranids to shreds while what Sisters of Battle and Guardsmen that remained provided covering fire.

Rane turned to face another threat, only to find himself staring down the Hive Tyrant that lead the army, only a few meters out of striking distance. It twitched its massive scythes and cracked its bone whip against the shattered pavement, long ropes of saliva falling out of its mouth in predatory hunger.

With barely a thought Rane holstered his precious bolt pistol, and took a two handed grip on his gore soaked chainsword.

"Come on then, you gigantic freak of nature, I'm right here!"

Without further prompting the Tyrant, standing easily five times the size of Rane, leapt forward, bringing its massive bone-sword to bear. Rane rolled to avoid it, but rolled directly into the reach of its huge scything limbs, and was awarded several large rents to his polished silver curias, and shredding his red cape.

With a snarl Rane came up and tore the ruined cape from his shoulders.

"You'll have to do better than that!" he shouted as the Tyrant brought its whip down where Rane was standing. With a quick flick, Rane took the whip hand off at the beast's wrist, before dancing out of reach of its reprisal swing of a sword easily the length or Rane.

In a moment of overconfidence, Rane darted forward with his sword in a move to skewer the Tyrant.

Having fallen for the Hive Tyrant's feint, the scythes came together and neatly clipped Rane's sword hand off at the wrist, before flicking outwards to knock the wounded Interrogator to the ground.

The beast's cold eyes shone with a renewed hunger as it planted a foot on Rane's torso, pinning his remaining hand underneath him.

A jet of flame shot onto the beast's flank, followed by a hail of shells from two bolters.

"Get off the Interrogator!" Astrid vocalized from her helmet, her voice still sounding young and slightly shrill.

Maris didn't wait to see if the beast would comply, instead releasing a stream of bolts at the Tyrant's momentarily exposed head, emptying his clip. The beast keened a note of pain, and took a step back, releasing the prone Interrogator. Seeing his chance, Olaf dashed forward with agility belying his large form, and hacked off the creature's sword limb.

The Hive Tyrant, bleeding now from multiple wounds, tried to call for help. It's desperate, piteous wail was cut short by Maris' bolter, which emptied another clip into the wounded beast, which fell and lay still.

Astrid ran to Rane's side, helping him sit up, whilst tying a tourniquet around Rane's severed wrist. What he saw when he sat up made him break out into a huge smile.

Space Wolf Thunderhawk landers were coming in, guns blazing, in support of Imperial Guard landing craft. Space Wolves and Imperial Guard rushed out of their craft almost before they had touched down to face the scattered Tyranid forces. In the midst of all the action, a single black Thunderhawk gunship touched down near to Rane.

Astrid knelt down to help Rane get to his feet, who leaned heavily on the Battle Sister.

A figure in gleaming black plate power armor, holding a massive, snow white headed hammer strode down the open ramp, his red, fur lined cape billowing in the wind.

"Interrogator," Inquisitor Lyn said, coming to his pupil. "You call for assistance, and yet I find that you've already done most of the work before I get here. What have I told you about underestimating your abilities?"

Rane smiled at his teacher's humor.

"My apologies, master," Rane said, bowing as best he could while holding Astrid's shoulder.

"This is hardly the place for a reunion," Lyn said, as if he were commenting on the qualities of a wine. "We'll talk when this is done."

Without another word he shouldered his hammer and strode towards the battle, a squad of black-clad Imperial Storm-Troopers in tow.

Rane sat down hard on the Thunderhawk's landing ramp, waiting for the medics he knew were coming.

Astrid sat down next to him, removing her helmet, and letting her long, straw colored hair spill out. Maris and Olaf came up to stand in front of the wounded Interrogator.

"What now?" Rane asked them.

Maris shrugged. "I'm still Deathwatch. My mission to guard you hasn't changed."

Olaf laughed at this. "You, my lad, have such fun adventures, if this one's anything to go by. Besides, I'm a lone wolf now. There's not much difference me tagging along with you, or some Wolf Lord's army."

Rane smiled at the two Astartes, before turning to Astrid, who had carefully laid her flamer on her armored lap.

"Well, my Superior's last orders were to protect you, so I suppose I go with you, too."

Rane's smile widened.

"I'll see to it you get that symbol of the Inquisition."

Astrid smiled slightly.

"I'd like that, sir."

_-Ben Hofmann, 2010_


End file.
